


Still Just a Boy

by youremyqueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Kink Meme, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremyqueen/pseuds/youremyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis has been trying for years to get a son on Sylese, but it only now occurs to him that he doesn't really want another one.</p><p>Written for an asoiaf/got kink meme, prompt was: daddy issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Just a Boy

Stannis has been trying for years to get a son on Sylese, but it only now occurs to him that he doesn't really want another one.

Jon Snow crumples under his hands as soon as he touches his skin, quivering and pressing forward into Stannis's grasp like some sort of mechanical contraption designed specifically to be beautiful. 

It's wrong, of course, High Septons and smallfolk alike could agree on that, but Melisandre's - _his_ \- red R'hllor doesn't seem to care where Stannis gets his strength, so long as he gets it. The bastard commander is as good a place as any.

"I - don't," Jon starts, because that's how he always starts, moral and good and _sweet_ as he is. But when Stannis presses his lips to his, just to make him give up on attempting to form words, it's all the sweeter. His hand slips down that supple waist, pressing the boy further into the wall as he unlaces his trousers to grasp that pretty cock of his. Jon chokes at that, hips stuttering into Stannis's hand as he breathes, wet and warm, against his lips.

"Stannis," he breathes, hardly a protest, mostly a plea.

Stannis lets up his grip on Jon's cock, reducing it to only a light touch that barely ghosts against the skin, and Jon whines low in his throat. His hips jerk forward, trying to get the friction back, but Stannis steadies him, curving his palm around one smooth hipbone.

"No," he tells him, pulling back to look Jon in his flushed face, words even and heavy, "that's not what you call me."

Jon grits his teeth, expression reforming itself into a defiant grimace. "King Stannis, then," he nearly spits, and Stannis's lips almost curl at that, even though they both know it's the wrong answer. The boy is just being rebellious for rebellion's sake, and, as always, he needs a firm hand to school him out of the habit.

Stannis steps back, completely letting go of Jon, cock and all.

Before Jon can get too relieved - or too disappointed, as the case may be - Stannis grabs him by the collar, pulling him forward and tearing off his furs, until he's near shivering in nothing but a haphazard shirt and undone trousers. He has half a mind to put him over his knee, teach him good and final not to disobey, but that would take time, would push back the part that Stannis really wants to get to. And, if he's honest, there's a part of him that rather enjoys Jon's childish resistance.

Instead, he turns him around for something else all together, shoving him chest-first into the firm stone wall and releasing him the rest of the way from his pants so that he's bare and smooth before Stannis, before his king.

"That," Stannis nearly whispers, bending over the quivering boy in front of him to speak against the pale skin of his neck, "is not what you call me. Not now."

He thinks Jon may try and continue the game, may attempt to keep his perceived dignity rather than giving Stannis what he is due, so he heads him off by slipping a rough finger down his spine and pressing it between his cheeks. Jon jerks at that, body twisting away and against, clearly not sure where he wants to go, only that he wants _something_.

Stannis stretches him out quickly, not bothering with gentleness - whether out of impatience or appreciation for the sweet, desperate sounds it elicits from him, it matters not - and soon he's more than ready to be properly fucked. There's just one more very important step that needs completing.

"Boy," Stannis breathes into Jon's ear, lining his cock up with his pretty ass and pressing forward only lightly. "What do you call me?"

And as he drags a finger or two along the underside of Jon's cock, teasing gently, he seems to break, to give in, and when he gasps out the next word, it shoots straight through Stannis's bloodstream and down to his own groin.

" _Father_ ," Jon groans softly.

"What was that?" Stannis asks, just because once the bastard gets started, he doesn't bother to put up a fight over it any longer.

"Father," he repeats, burying his flushed cheeks against the wall in his childish shame, and Stannis can't help but rather enjoy that, as he slides inside of him. "Father," Jon gasps again, pushing himself back against Stannis, which just makes him slam in harder.

"That's a boy," he says, which seems to make Jon even more desperate, blush an even deeper pink.

And so it goes, the harder Stannis fucks him, the more Jon says it - repeating the word like a prayer, like a plea - which makes Stannis fuck him harder still. When it's over and done with, he knows that neither of them will speak a word of it, because there's really nothing else to say about it, except what Jon is already saying.

"Father, father, _father_."


End file.
